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child poetry

quell'anno
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
perchè facciali sempre basamento là che rabbrividisce
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
vecchio vino da bere
malinconia, azzurro era
i giorni malinconici sono venuto
amo rubare per un po'via
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero
fate non sentirsi
ciò è l'arsenale
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo

 



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